Cherry Suicide
by bitterkidxsweety
Summary: He was patient with her; with love. He was naïve, filled with innocence, and youth, and optimism, and bright smiles that made her tilt her head in amazement. He was different. He was good. He understood her in a way that startled even her. LP


This was Peyton.

She was golden waves of curly blond hair, large hazel china doll eyes, pale, paper thin lips smeared with peach lip balm from Sav-On. She was sensual lust and sly seduction; the soft lips nibbling your neck and the hard kisses on your mouth that left you dizzy and breathless and wanting more. She was dark love and soft sadness; broken hearts recently stolen and band-aids that no longer stick on one side.

This was Peyton.

He would always see her at unexpected times. Quick; short; brief. It was a rapid glimpse of curly blonde hair at the other end of the hall, a momentary glance of her profile in the lunch line. It was never enough to grasp her, never enough to keep her.

Sometimes, though...just sometimes...he would catch her amongst the crowd. And sometimes, he would stare without knowing. He would throw a glance at the mass of students, his fleeting look landing on the side of her face, and his gaze would soften and his eyes would subconsciously study her every move.

And sometimes, though...just sometimes...she'd feel him observing her. She would look around until she found his gaze, her hazel eyes locking with his blue. And they'd make eye contact for a full two and a half seconds; innocent, curious, mischievous before she turned back to her crowd of popular cheerleader friends, a small smile on her face that wasn't there before.

He would feel his insides freeze, his chest filling with that swooping sensation when you miss a step going downstairs. Sooner or later that feeling would slowly subside into a happy feel-good relax, and before he could register what was happening, he would be grinning so widely that Haley thought he was going crazy.

Peyton was surreal beauty and dizzy happiness, piercing gazes and confused stares and coy smiles that made you grin like an idiot. She was clumsy first kisses, shy and awkward first dates; the vague warmth of arms around your neck when you close your eyes and reminisce of good times. She was the butterflies fluttering in your stomach; the light, airy feeling inside your head after you blow up a balloon.

This was Peyton.

He remembered the first time she had kissed him. It was timid emotion on the brink of passion and in the form of a dare. _"...show us how you really feel,"_ said Brooke. He remembered feeling tired just then, jaded; two steps forward, one step back. But all too suddenly, he felt Peyton grabbing the sides of his face, bringing his mouth to hers. He could taste the sticky sweetness of her peach lip gloss mingled with the sugary flavor of the Shirley Temples they served that night.

She pulled him to her even closer, parting her lips, teasing him, daring him to taste her just as much as she was aching to taste him...his arm hovered around her waist and his mouth hesitantly opened against hers...she pulled away and walked off.

He was patient with her; with love. He was naïve, filled with innocence, and youth, and optimism, and bright smiles that made her tilt her head in amazement. He was different. He was good. He understood her in a way that startled even her.

It scared her.

It seemed so simple to him; love. It's concept and it's meaning; clean and beautiful and true. He didn't know anything about mind games and playing hard-to-get. He was straightforward and honest and he was open with her, only her. And she didn't understand that. How many times had she tried to read between the lines only to find nothing there?

And he saw her. She was all secrets; all mystery; never unguarded. She was always protecting herself from something, always hiding something. She was all masks and all walls and all defenses.

He was different. He was extraordinary. He was an enigma to her as she was to the world. And he was slowly interlacing his fingers through hers; slowly crawling through the tiny crack in the wall she had worked so hard to build.

She had to protect herself. She had to defend herself. She spit acid at his words, injured his romantic views of love, and left him feeling cold and empty all over. She bruised his heart with biting remarks and slammed the door in his face and all he had to offer.

He confused her. He loved her.

Peyton was untold lies and stolen kisses, the kind you hide within yourself and lock inside your closet. She was exploding fireworks on dark velvet nights, orange-pink skies that radiated sun. She was tears in the rain, hollow emptiness, and off-tune singing in the shower. Peyton was rare laughter, daydreams in the middle of class; the kind of hazy euphoria when you're high.

Love.


End file.
